Breaking the Bond
by wild-sunshine
Summary: Bond only has two fears. Bond/OC.


Hello :) This is a one shot, Bond/OC, post- Casino Royale.

YES Bond is out of character. Please, please don't just review to tell me that, okay? I intended it to be. Please an' thank you, darlings.

Enjoy!

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There were two things Bond was terrified of.

One of these was flying. He hated being detached from the entire world, hated how it made him feel sick and completely out of sorts, and hated that the entire trip was going on faith in the pilots and the mechanics of the airplane, neither of which he had any control over.

The second thing was the one that terrified him the most- not being able to _do _anything. He didn't like putting his life into the hands of someone else, especially someone he didn't even know. Helplessness terrified him beyond all reason he could see.

And, he was fast discovering, the return trip was worse than the first, because he'd been dreading it for that much longer. M had finally put her foot down on the subject of his travel. Since he'd confessed his absolute terror concerning flying, she'd done her best to arrange other ways of travel around Europe; short flights were better, he could almost tolerate anything less than five hours- but with this trip to Los Angeles, there wasn't much else to do.

Two, in his opinion, was pretty damn good, given his job. But more than that, he believed it was a weakness. And vulnerability was not something he enjoyed.

All things considered, however, there was one factor that made things both better and worse. And this factor was the pretty girl from the office who'd been sent to accompany him as a translator in a rather mundane mission of negotiation. She was different, he loved that, but he was sure she'd give up on him after the fifteen-hour flight. He'd known her for the two months they were in the States, and now that they were going back, he was certain that his happiness as he knew it and had recently found was about to come to its usual shuddering halt.

Bond's lifestyle of choice was that of unbearable haughtiness; the airport gate did not meet his standards. This was due to, in part, the fact that the plane had been delayed, which had put him in an insufferable mood. He'd been commanded to stay where he was by Sara while she went to get coffee, mostly because he'd been rather short with the cashier at the first café they'd visited while waiting for the plane; this was because of his mounting anxiety, but he wasn't about to admit to that. He'd obeyed, mostly because her demand had been quite amusing; most women couldn't demand something of him so effectively.

"Sit there and _don't move!" _she'd ordered, before crossing the terminal towards the café. Bond leaned back in his chair to watch her as she stood outside the line, looking up at the menu. She vaguely reminded him of Vesper, he'd noted upon meeting her. Long dark hair, the almond-shaped eyes, straight eyebrows, elegant posture, even the haughty look she had sometimes. Closer observation told him that her hair was more of a chestnut brown, her eyes hinting towards amber, brows arching. Her smile was different enough to be comforting and that haughty look disappeared whenever he went near her. And she laughed more- like when teaching him to say her name, which wasn't like _Summer, _but pronounced like there was an 'a' instead of an 'e'; it was Arabic, she'd told him. He hoped he was saying it right. And her kiss- Vesper had a kiss for the silver screen, for maximum visual effect. Summer's, for all her beauty and elegance, was sweet and light, and ultimately at home both on the beach before a camera for the world to see and envy, and in the produce section of the grocery store. Their differences were stunning.

But what truly made her different from Vesper was that he could envision her as someone other than a gorgeous vision that was momentarily gracing his life. He could _see _her as- as someone in reality. As someone's best friend, the one who wore the shorter heels but still wore heels and helped choose a dress. As a daughter, who used to fight for the passenger seat and to lick the spatula. As someone who hated her alarm clock and complained about making dentist appointments so far in advance. She probably babysat her friends' kids and wore mismatched socks and preferred her tea with a lot of sugar, unless she forgot to add any. He could see her doing dishes and giggling at the soap bubbles, or reading a novel until one in the morning by flashlight. It was almost too easy to envision her as a fiancée, to bring home and be proud of, to stare at from across the kitchen while she helped his mother with dinner and wonder how he'd gotten so lucky. And he could see her as a mother, with a clarity so pure it was nearly surreal. She would be perhaps a little more elegant, perhaps with a loveliness that few others had, but she would be there. And she would be real.

Bond halted his train of thought when he heard a boarding call resound through the terminal.

"Flight 3145 is now boarding for first-" he blocked out the sound, in a lost attempt to keep his heart rate at something close to normalcy.

"You all right?" Summer was standing before him, holding two coffee cups, one of which she offered to him.

"Fine. Thanks." He hoped the confident tone would be enough to convince her that he was truly fine. She tilted her head to the side slightly, but said nothing about it.

"Are you coming?" she finally asked. He merely blinked at her, _coming? _A slight flicker of interest in her eyes he hoped didn't mean she'd figured out anything, and she smiled. Dimples. She must have been an adorable toddler. "They've already made the boarding call."

"Ah. Of course." He stood, bent to pick up her small, pale blue backpack and handed it to her. She slipped one strap over her shoulder, although it immediately slipped a few centimeters. Slender shoulders, he thought absently, the sort that blended against a sideways embrace, as if she was shaped to melt against his body, stay there with her synchronized heartbeat and remain. "Our boarding cards?" she fanned them out for him, with the flick of a magician's hand. The reminder of the looming flight made him almost shiver. "Good." He reached for her hand and led her to the line before the check-in. Again, another comparison crossed his mind, of the difference between linking arms with Vesper and feeling like a celebrity, and holding Sara's hand, feeling her fingertips rest against the back of his hand, feeling secure that she wouldn't let go, as Vesper had been so apt to drift away. If Sara noticed his tense silence as they moved through the lines and onto the plane, she gave no sign.

"Here's our seats. Window or aisle?" she turned the dark amber eyes to him.

"Aisle, if you don't mind." He despised being able to see the wing as it dipped and rose sporadically.

"Perfect." She slipped over to her seat- first class offered an abundance of room, looked to him. He slid down beside her, leaning back against the white leather and trying to appear calm. He tried not to concentrate on how just being on the plane was making it significantly harder to breathe, watching instead as the fingers of her left hand tapped against the armrest. People were sweeping by down the aisle, followed by a stewardess. Bond tried to block them out, so he wouldn't be reminded of where he was, and instead reached for Summer's fluttering fingers.

"Hm." He murmured, splaying her fingers out over his palm and running his fingertip down her left ring finger, "it's broken." There was a definite angle that shouldn't have been there, like someone had taken her finger and jerked half of it sideways. Bond was normally immune to the idea of pain, but this made him cringe. _My beautiful girl, _he thought, worry weaving through his mind, _poor thing. _But her light laughter gave him pause.

"It's been broken for such a long time." She shook her head slightly, locks of her brown hair falling forwards as she did, "since third grade. We were playing tag." He smiled at the sheer simplicity of the break, raising her fingers to his lips and kissing the broken bone.

"Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen." The voice over the loudspeaker shattered Bond's thoughts, and rattled whatever calmness he'd found. "We welcome you on our flight-" Bond closed his eyes and pretended to sleep, so at least he could do his best to lose himself in his thoughts, and ignore the nausea-inducing atmosphere of the plane cabin.

Flying would have been difficult enough; he hadn't really needed the reminder of the worst betrayal of his life. And the conflict was wearing away at him, until he was so confused, up looked like down, left looked like right, night was day, happiness was pain, death was release, love was torment, and Sara had almost become Vesper.

The elegantly twisting words resounded through his mind, until Vesper's voice, singing high and clear, faded off into silence, and their echo came back in a sultry whisper, laced with a murmur of amusement, Summer's voice. And he could barely tell the difference. Somewhere in the midst of memories, Bond fell into an uneasy sleep.

When he woke, an hour later, the cabin was dark, lit only by the few golden glows of light, as passengers read, while their companions slept. Bond looked over beside him. Summer was curled up on the seat, holding a book beneath the light, and in the glow it cast, all he had to do was blur his sight a little, and she was no longer herself. She was Vesper, soaking wet and breathing water, wide-eyed, dark hair floating, fingers clenching and unclenching, watching him like she wanted to take him with her. She'd died long before she drowned. She'd died before he'd met her, when she gave her soul to the man she'd loved. He'd loved her shadow, her echo, and that wasn't her. He'd loved what another man had made her, for himself. He'd loved another man's Vesper, not Vesper herself.

So he'd never really loved Vesper at all.

The plane dipped suddenly, and Bond's heart jumped into his throat. Something of a strangled whimper escaped him, and Sara turned to him. She studied him for a heartbeat.

"James" she murmured, "are you all right?" He opened his mouth to reply, but then the plant's wing dipped again, and he froze.

"Fine" he finally mumbled, looking away. "Don't worry about me." He watched her watching him, as her fingers danced over her necklace, anxiety making them flutter.

The necklace. Pièce de renaissance. Algerian love knot. He was torturing himself, perhaps, but it reassured him. And it looked so lovely on her. It was giving a nod to Vesper, and if that wasn't done, he'd never have closure. He'd gotten it for her because, when he'd seen it, he'd thought of her, and not Vesper, and that was shattering.

In the dim light, though, as she watched him steadily, he almost didn't see her.

"Vesper" he breathed, and when he did, she gave him a look, said nothing. He'd explained everything to her.

"I don't want to be her replacement." Summer whispered, shifting her gaze away. "Please."

"You're not. You can't be." She wasn't. She couldn't be. He was endlessly grateful that she could never be. She couldn't lower herself to be such. "Because I love you." This clearly made no sense to her. He trailed his fingertips over the back of her hand gently. "I didn't love her. I thought I did. I never really knew her." The beautiful doubt didn't lift. "She was in love with someone before she even met me. I should have known, the evidence was staring me in the face."

"Evidence?" She asked in a murmur. He nodded.

"Her necklace. The sort you give to who you intend to marry, and no one can come between you."

"What sort is that?" She questioned softly. He reached over, trailing his fingertips down the chain of Summer's necklace.

"This one." And then he waited. Waited for her to realize that he'd given her a necklace just like Vesper's, and that there was a message behind it. He waited, hoped she'd come to a pleased conclusion.

"Mine's just like hers?" He inwardly cringed at her words, as she'd come first to the conclusion she did not prefer. "Because you want to..."

"Yes. To both." He drew in a breath, wished they could have had the conversation somewhere that wasn't such an anxiety-inducing place. "I never really knew her, so you can't replace her. And yes. I love you. I intend to avoid making the worst mistake I could make."

"Which would be?"

"Letting you go." He had a bond with her, as he'd had with Vesper. He'd been unable to let Vesper go. He wouldn't let Summer go, not ever. He loved her far too much to live on without her.

Summer was silent for a moment. Then she leaned over and kissed him.

"I love you." She studied him for a few more moments, dark amber eyes inquisitive. "Are you certain you're all right?" He twined his fingers with hers, drawing in a breath.

"I'm rather scared of flying."

He'd admitted it only once before. He hadn't forgotten the flicker of amusement in Vesper's eyes. He hadn't forgotten.

"James..." Vesper had said the same. But meeting Summer's gaze, he saw only sympathy. "I love you" she murmured, kissing him softly. "Don't be afraid." It wasn't clear whether she meant this towards flying, or towards whether she loved him or not, but he didn't fear either.

The bond between James Bond and Vesper Lynd was forever broken.

Thirty five thousand feet above the world, James Bond proposed to the woman he would stay with for his entire life.

Several months later, the locations of the two Algerian love knots were decidedly opposite.

One was lost beneath Venice, promises seeping out of the tarnished silver.

The other was the pièce de renaissance, perfectly complimented the wedding dress.

Bonds were broken. Bonds were created. They were what dictated the fate of any single life in relation to another. And they made life worth living.

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Hope everyone liked that :)

Review, please!  
Ready for some shameless reader-attracting? :If you're a fan of slash, too, check out my other fics, under the M-rated stuff. hahahaha shameless, no?

Review!!!!!  
Love, Wild-sunshine


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